


Ruby Red

by Lostinfantasies38



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Explicit Language, F/M, Guilt, Heavy Angst, Out of Character, Ritual Sex, Rough Sex, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 15:16:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20978027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lostinfantasies38/pseuds/Lostinfantasies38
Summary: Alistair and Morrigan meet again in Skyhold's garden prior to the fight at Adamant Fortress. Memories buried resurface and renewed guilt burns bright. Ten years have passed and people can change, but is it enough for these two with a dark and bitter history?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I did not mark this story as non-con, but it will be stated during the ritual scene that one of the characters involved is not fully clued into how the ritual works and the effects later. This COULD be taken as non-con by some. I thought an explanation and a warning were fair. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. Thanks for stopping by!
> 
> Also: none of this belongs to me. All rights are Bioware and EA. I have borrowed some dialogue, but tried not to use too much. I always write for fun because I love the characters, NEVER for profit.

“Well, well, well. What have we here? A lost Grey Warden? How unsurprising that without the Hero of Ferelden, you are always such.” 

Her velvety voice ghosted over him like a cold breeze, dropping the temperature around him by several degrees. He closed his eyes tightly and grit his teeth in annoyance before steeling himself to turn around and face her.

“Morrigan. And here I was hoping that the actual reason for your disappearance the last ten years was because you jumped off a cliff.” Alistair crossed his arms defensively – an automatic mechanism he employed whenever she was around. He caught himself and growled at his response. He was thirty-one for Maker’s sake – he was no longer an unsure boy who cowered in her presence. 

She laughed richly at the effect she still had over him and he narrowed his eyes at how much it reminded him of Flemeth. Clearing her throat, the witch spoke again. “I see that you have found yourself in the midst of events that threaten to shake the world again. But – so do I. What do you suppose that says about us?”

Alistair shrugged his broad shoulders. “Nothing good, I’m sure.” 

Morrigan studied him carefully. “No quip about the Maker having a sense of humor then? How curious. I thought nothing could diminish your feeble attempts at humor.”

He scowled. “People change. Well, except for you, but that’s probably because you aren’t really a person. You’re Flemeth’s daughter – a Witch of the Wilds.” 

She smiled coldly. “Ah, there it is. That famous antagonistic wit you always saved for me.”

With a mocking bow Alistair continued. “Don’t forget Loghain. I save my best one-liners for those who are sure to stab me in the back.”

Morrigan straightened even more, if such a thing were possible, her jaw working back and forth in unspoken anger, but her next words surprised him. “I shall leave you to the garden, then. Enjoy it while you can. I hear the Inquisitor personally planted some of the rosebushes.” On silent feet, she swiftly turned and ducked into one of the guest rooms off the garden.

Snarling to himself in disgust that he let her get to him _again_ he brushed off his traveling armor, as though he could brush her off of him as easily as dust, and headed back into the castle. He promised Leliana that they would spend some time catching up. 

It would take several days, if not a week or more, to make all the necessary arrangements for the assault on Adamant, so he and Hawke were spending the time in Skyhold. It was the first time he’d had an actual roof over his head in months – not to mention a bed and a hot meal that he hadn’t been required to kill, dress, and cook himself. Usually on the road, he stuck to jerky and hardtack because they traveled well and did not draw the attention of wild animals or unsavory humans. Alistair was glad for the respite – he knew that going up against the entire Order was not going to be an easy feat and this opportunity gave him a chance to fully prepare. Now, if only he could get that damn song in his head to shut up so he could get some decent sleep.

Pushing his encounter to the back of his mind, Alistair took the stairs to Leliana’s rookery and plopped down in the chair across from her. She smiled warmly at him and took his hand across the jagged wood between them. “Alistair, I am so glad to see you. It’s been too long.”

He squeezed her hand lightly and smiled back. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m terrible at writing letters. It was easier when I was still in Ferelden, but since the call to Orlais. . .well, I’m sorry.”

The rogue’s lips pulled down slightly at the corners in concern for her friend. Hawke had told the advisors about the Calling that all the Wardens were hearing. “There is no need to apologize to me, Alistair. You are my friend and I am always here for you, you know that, don’t you?”

The strawberry blond swallowed thickly against the compassion in her voice. So – she knew. He patted her hand and nodded, as words had escaped him and he worried that if he opened his mouth, sobs would fall out instead. 

“Oh, Alistair,” Leliana whispered raggedly. She moved quickly around the table and wrapped herself around him like a blanket in a fierce embrace. If only the love she had for her friend were enough to banish the darkness that resided inside him! She closed her eyes tightly to stem the tide of tears that threatened to spill over their banks. His fingers dug into her arms and she was sure they would bruise, but she didn’t care, as one of her oldest friends clung to her like a dying man. . .which was exactly what he was.

They stayed like that for some time, both of them struggling to rein in the overwhelming crush of emotions until they were steadier. With a sigh, Leliana released him and leaned against the table instead of going back to her chair. Alistair cleared his throat several times before speaking.

“How is, ahem, the Hero these days? I haven’t had a letter from her in quite some time.”

Leliana spread her hands in front of her questioningly. “I do not know. I know that she and Zevran are traveling together again, but I do not know where she went after she resigned her Warden-Commander post.”

Alistair nodded thoughtfully. He wondered if she was hearing the same song right now, wherever she was in the world. Which brought another dark question to mind – just how far could Corypheus’ reach be, if that were the case? He did not like it and he had been sure that he couldn’t dislike anything more than the Archdemon, but Corypheus was proving him wrong. Damn darkspawn. Damn taint. Damn Grey Wardens.

Mistaking his melancholy, Leliana spoke again. “I am sorry, Alistair. I-I know how you felt about her.” She placed a hand lightly on his shoulder.

Alistair startled at her words, trying to figure out where they came from and then realizing that he must have looked more depressed than he meant to. He gave a rueful laugh. “Ah, Leliana, I am no longer pining for unrequited love. She made her choice and I hope she is happy. No, I was brooding about Corypheus and his connection to the Wardens.” He smiled in an attempt to lighten the mood. “You know me – a constant worrywart.” 

Leliana giggled, reminding him for a moment of a young girl sitting by the fireside, sharing stories and singing songs with their companions. “You seem very wistful today, Alistair. Are you sure you are alright?”

He ruffled his hair and huffed. “Yes, yes, just a little nostalgic, I suppose. Seeing you and talking about Zev and Elissa – I don’t know, it makes me miss the gang. Well, except for Morrigan.” 

Suddenly unable to make eye contact Leliana jumped up and poured herself a glass of wine and offered him one as well. Alistair shook his head with a smile. He learned years ago to never drink wine with a bard, an Antivan, and their wily Warden companion – too many clothes had been lost in that game of Wicked Grace and he was sure he’d still have trouble looking Zevran in the eyes all these years later. Watching Leliana take a deep gulp with a trembling hand, however, made him nervous and suddenly wish he had some after all.

Setting the goblet down Leliana spoke, “So. . . you found Morrigan, did you? That is good – well, maybe you won’t think so. Still, it’s so strange she still wears those robes. I keep asking her to let me take her shopping, but she refuses. . .” She stopped, realizing she was rambling and took another gulp of her wine.

Alistair quirked an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “Okay, what is going on? This is almost as excruciating as when Eamon put me forward as King and suddenly everyone was swallowing their tongues around me.” He chuckled at the memory, but Leliana did not smile, causing his own grin to falter.

“Have you seen the boy?”

He nearly fell out of his chair by the blow to his gut. Except Leliana hadn’t moved, so where had that punch come from? Wait…that wasn’t a punch, that was just his visceral reaction to realizing the son he’d fathered was under the same roof and he – just like his own father – did not even know him. But would he want to? He was Morrigan’s son, not his! _She_ had raised him and made it damn clear that she never wanted him to have anything to do with him and he’d been fine with that…at the time. But now – a decade later with his eminent death looming over him, he felt a regret so deep it threatened to drown him. Ice water replaced the blood in his veins and he broke into chills. Reaching for something to steady him, he grabbed the edge of the table and wheezed, “He is here? In the castle? Right now?”

Leliana nodded slowly and offered him her own goblet. He took it gratefully and pulled a long draught of the heady liquid. He set it down and leaned forward with his head between his legs, trying to get the world to stop spinning.

“Andraste, that – that was the _last_ thing I ever expected you to say.”

“I’m sorry, I thought you knew.” He waved away her apology.

“No, no, it’s fine. I should have realized he would be with her...his _mother_. Oh, Maker, that makes me nauseous to even say out loud. I still can’t believe I agreed to that...KNOWING that I – we – would produce a _child_. Together.”

Leliana squatted down to gaze into his conflicted amber eyes. “You...knew that a child would be born from the ritual?” Alistair nodded a little erratically since his entire body was still shivering violently. “I always assumed that you found that out later.”

He smiled coldly. “Oh, no. Elissa gave me all the details and batted her eyelashes at me seductively, knowing that I could not refuse her. She told me that she would have completed the ritual for me if she ‘had the right parts.’” He swallowed hard at the memory and whispered. “I know she was just as scared as I was of dying and I couldn’t blame her then. I can’t even blame her now. I just wish – “ Alistair turned away from the rogue’s piercing gaze and sat up abruptly. “Well, it doesn’t matter. Done is done. And I’m no better than my father. I willingly bedded a woman knowing the consequences and spent the rest of my life pretending he didn’t exist.”

Leliana grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him hard. “That is not true. You are not like him, in that regard, but you _are_ Maric’s son in bravery and deed. Morrigan is the one who walked away in the end, remember? She is the one who set the conditions. You sacrificed so much that year to defeat the Blight and even more after, helping Elissa rebuild the Order in Ferelden and now this. Do not blame yourself for what happened with the boy. Even if you have been involved in his life, how often do you think he would have seen you? And would that have been better or worse for him?”

Alistair sighed heavily and raked a hand through his hair. “You’re right, I know you are. I just – I never expected to have an opportunity to _see_ him. What do I say to him? ‘Hello, I’m your absentee father. But you can blame your crazy Mother for banishing me from your life. Also, sorry, I have to go on a suicide mission, so I’ll probably never see you again. Have a nice life?’”

The rogue bit her lip. “Maybe you don’t have to speak with him, but...at least see him before you leave. He is usually in the garden with Morrigan in the afternoon. That’s when he takes a break from his studies.”

The Warden snorted in spite of himself. “Studies? What does he study? Old God Demon Baby 101? How to take over the World and Cackle like Grandmother?” He blanched and stared at Leliana in horror. “Maker’s breath! Does that make me Flemeth’s son-in-law?!”

Unable to help herself, Leliana erupted into laughter, holding her sides until she could feel stitches burning in them. The longer she laughed, the more Alistair visibly relaxed, until even he was chuckling, but whether the tears that streamed down his face were due to his unintentionally comical statement or a deeper emotion, she could not say.

Once they had calmed down some, Leliana gave him another hug, this one was even more bone-crushing, but Alistair was glad of it. “It is so good to see you, Alistair,” she whispered in his ear. “I have missed you.” She leaned back with a warm smile. “You remember Cullen? The templar we rescued from the Circle of Magi?” Alistair nodded at the memory of that horrid tower filled with blood and other questionable viscous fluids and the templar trapped in a cage, tortured and delirious, outside of the Harrowing chamber. “He is our Commander, but he doesn’t have your sense of humor.”

“Wait, your Commander Cullen is _the same _Cullen that was tortured by blood mages for days on end and wanted us to kill them all to make sure they hadn’t been secretly turned?” Leliana nodded. “How in the Maker’s name did you convince him to ally with the mages?” She laughed and shrugged.

“He was not happy with the alliance initially, of course. But he’s had over a decade to change and some of his harshness has softened with time.” The woman paused and then barreled on. “You might find that the same is true of Morrigan.”

Alistair’s back became ramrod straight and flashes of that night in Redcliffe castle came unbidden to his mind. He shook his head to dislodge the memory and brushed his leathers roughly. “Hmph,” was his only reply and Leliana wisely did not pursue it further. 

Deciding that a change of subject was required, she shared their experience at the Winter Palace, sharing gossip about the nobles in the court. The duo were in stitches by the end of her scandalous recounting and Alistair seemed to be himself again. She invited him to dine with them – the Inquisitor, her companions, and advisors – and promised there would be many more such stories. 

He smiled and stood up. “I will be there, Leliana. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ll just go to my room and change out of my traveling gear.”

Giving him her signature kiss on the cheek, she recorked her wine bottle and nodded. “And I should stop drinking before dinner or I’m going to miss all of Iron Bull’s good ones.” 

“Well, we can’t have that now, can we? Just. . .don’t tell anyone about that game of Wicked Grace.” Alistair grimaced at the memory.

Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “Who, moi? Perish the thought, Alistair.”

He groaned and closed his eyes wearily. “They already know, don’t they?” 

Leliana giggled. “Wait until you hear about Cullen’s game of Wicked Grace!” 

Alistair smiled brightly. “Oh, well, then! This should be fun. See you at dinner.” He waved merrily and made his way down the never-ending stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

Taking the stairs down to the guest wing, he wandered around a little lost until he located his room. It was a large fortress and there were so many rooms, most of them already taken with visiting dignitaries, but he managed to find his bedchamber. It was sparsely furnished with just a bed in the center, a trunk at the foot of the bed for storage, and a small desk with an even smaller chair shoved under it to maintain as much floor space as possible.

It suited him just fine. He had never been one to need or want luxuries and after years with the Wardens, he did not expect anything more than the bare necessities. At least the bed was comfortable, as he had discovered when he took a ten-hour nap on it after he and Hawke arrived from the Western Approach.

Standing in the small room he was reminded of another time, when he stood in another small bedchamber, in a different castle, for a different reason. He couldn’t stop the images that flashed through his mind – soft skin under his calloused fingers, breathy sighs and heady moans filling the air, long hair tickling his nose, teeth nibbling tender –

MAKER’S BREATH! No, no, no, no. He had gone a bloody decade forgetting that night. Burying the very notion that he might have _enjoyed_ it. Maker, what was wrong with him? The only time he had ever been with a woman and he wasn’t even sure if part of him wanted to admit it had been pleasant. All these years later and he hadn’t been able to drum up the interest to go to bed with anyone else. He had never been able to figure out if it was because he was denied his choice of partner for his first time or because it had been a matter of life and death, which curbed his sexual appetite.

Muttering angrily to himself, he searched for more casual wear. His sexual appetite may be dulled, but his Grey Warden appetite reared its head at the thought of a decent meal. All of his clothes were unfortunately in the same muted tones of brown or tan, unless it was his Grey Warden armor, but he didn’t care too much. Glancing down to make sure there were no food stains on his tunic he exited the room whistling a jaunty tune.

He settled himself in between Leliana and Josephine, sipping his cold ale while they chatted and waited for dinner to be served. Josephine was a delightful woman and she made a point of including him in their conversation, which helped pull him out of his earlier funk. He was joking and teasing with the women, getting a fair ribbing in return, and allowed himself to forget for one night that he was on borrowed time. The laughter and loud conversation, thankfully, drowned out the song and he was free to just be Alistair again.

Josephine blushed at something he said and he glanced at Leliana to see her trying to hide a smirk behind her mug. Alistair’s eyebrows shot into his hair as it slowly dawned on him that the Antivan ambassador might be interested in him. Josephine turned to speak to Varric on her opposite side and Alistair took the opportunity to lean to his roguish friend.

“Am I crazy or is Josephine a little – “

“Breathless? You seem surprised, Alistair. You always were oblivious to your own charm and good looks.” She smiled smugly. 

“Andraste, I-I do not know how to…”

Leliana looked at him questioningly. “But why? You’ve done it before.” Alistair looked at her pointedly and she gasped. “You mean – you haven’t since – Alistair!” She gripped his arm and hissed. “It’s been ten years!”

He nodded sagely and raised his mug in salute. “What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment.” She narrowed her eyes at him and opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Alistair choking on his ale. Slapping him on the back she followed his wide-eyed gaze to the side door and saw Morrigan stroll in with Kieran.

Morrigan’s yellow eyes caught his brown ones immediately. She bore into him and his already red face practically flamed as she seared him to the core. Sparing only a quick glance at the boy, Alistair stood and mumbled some excuse before fleeing the hall. 

The witch watched him run away with the slightest touch of regret. Kieran had missed the display thankfully, and he was the only one that mattered, but part of her wished – She knew about the Calling – she knew his time was short and she wanted to...apologize, if only her damnable pride wouldn’t get in the way. With a heavy sigh, she took a seat at one of the far tables and Kieran sat next to her. Soon, entrees and sides were brought to their table and they filled their plates. Kieran ate with the gusto of a young boy about to sprout into manhood and Morrigan smiled to herself, but to her all the food tasted like sawdust.

“I heard there was a Grey Warden in the castle, Mother.” Kieran’s eyes sparkled at the idea of the legendary Order.

“You’ve already met, Warden Blackwall, remember?” Kieran frowned because while he had met Ser Blackwall, he did not feel a resonance in him like he would have expected from a Warden, but he did not say so to his mother.

“No, I mean, another Warden! A friend of the Champion!” Morrigan sighed heavily and vowed to have a word with Varric for filling her son’s head with tales of Hawke’s exploits. 

“Ah, yes, I believe I have heard that rumor, too.” The boy sunk a little in his chair.

“Then…it is not true? There isn’t another Warden here, Mother?” 

Morrigan’s heart constricted painfully in her chest and cursing her own weakness in the face of his disappointment, she sighed. “No, you are correct. There is another Warden here. I will try to see if I can arrange a meeting with him, but I make no promises, young man. He is very busy making plans with the Inquisitor.”

Kieran’s face lit up and he sat up straight again. “I understand, Mother. Thank you for trying.” He went back to devouring his dinner and Morrigan was astounded yet again, by the kindness and gratefulness that lived in her son and which, by some miracle, she had not stomped out and destroyed like Flemeth had done to her. Surely, that side of him did not come from her.

She closed her eyes and berated herself. How would she be able to get Alistair to meet his own son when he couldn’t stand to be in the same room as her? It’s not as if she didn’t deserve it, true. She had needled him that very afternoon, falling into old habits as easily as slipping on her favorite robes, even though it had been almost eleven years since they last laid eyes on each other. She regretted it now, but there was nothing to be done about it. 

Seeing that Kieran had finished his plate and realizing that she was not going to be able to eat anymore, she stood and he obediently followed. Morrigan ignored the curious stare of the spymaster across the room, but she nodded politely to the Inquisitor on their way out of the hall, who returned it with one of her own.

Once they crossed the garden and were back in their room, Kieran moved behind the screen and changed into his nightclothes. Plucking his discarded books off his bed and taking his shoes to the corner so they were no longer a tripping hazard, she sweetly tucked the sheets around him and swept his hair from his forehead. He smiled sleepily and began to drift off. Morrigan remained seated on the edge of the bed and watched him descend into slumber.

As he was growing older, she could see more of Alistair in him. Facial expressions or the way his eyes sparkled with mischief before a witty remark. He was her son, through and through, in how he thought, what he believed, and his powerful magical ability further enhanced by the soul of the Old God; but there were pieces of Alistair scattered throughout. No one would be able to look at him and know he was his son…but she could see it. 

Like now, his face was relaxed in sleep and she remembered that same look all those years ago. Even before that night, anytime Alistair would get tired from marching or they would be sharing watch in the camp, he would get that same sleepy puppy look and his mouth would relax giving him a boyish appearance. She hoped that Kieran never outgrew it. It was not until she had a son and loved him so fiercely, that she understood how the youthfulness that Alistair boasted was so attractive to women.

Even now, ten years later, he had barely aged a day. His face was leaner, yes, but his lips still quirked a little, offsetting the crow’s feet that were just beginning to settle around his eyes. It leant enough boyishness to his expression that one could easily overlook the minute signs of aging. 

With a sigh and a final glance at Kieran, Morrigan stood slowly to keep from moving the mattress too much and prepared herself for bed. Slipping into her own silk nightdress, Morrigan crawled into her bed against the opposite wall, and quickly fell asleep.

The next day dawned and Morrigan returned to her study of elven lore, hoping to figure out what Corypheus was searching for in elven ruins across Thedas. Leaving Kieran to his studies in their room, she chose to read at her favorite bench. The scent of rose and honeysuckle filled the garden and Morrigan found that she actually enjoyed it – the fragrance relaxed her enough that she was able to concentrate fully on the difficulty of translating ancient elvish without becoming frustrated. 

Hours passed and she was surprised to find that the morning had flitted by during her research. Kieran came bounding out of their room, thankful for the break from his weighty tomes, and took a seat happily beside Morrigan. He leaned into her and breathed deeply the heady floral scent that permeated the air. Morrigan smiled and gave him a one-armed hug, placing her head on top of his, relishing that her son was still young enough that he enjoyed spending time with her.

Alistair watched them from the secrecy of a large wisteria bush. He hadn’t been there long, just long enough to see the bond between them and the softness in Morrigan’s eyes when the boy was around. Why couldn’t he just walk over there? He scuffed the dirt with his boot – because he was a Maker-damned coward. Setting his jaw and pulling himself to his full height Alistair willed himself to move out from behind the large bush. 

As he rounded the hedge, he saw Morrigan standing next to the gazebo with her – their – son nearby. He felt a weight in the pit of his stomach get heavier with each step, but he did not turn around. Morrigan watched him impassively – he had never been good at reading her, so he just ignored what he assumed was apathy on her part. He stopped short of where they stood, but close enough to be conversational.

Kieran curiously came to stand beside his mother and smiled warmly. It was disarming for Alistair to see him act like a normal child knowing what he was. “You are a Grey Warden. I can feel the darkness inside you.” Ah, yes, that was more like how he expected the demon baby he had spawned to behave.

He coughed slightly. “Can you? That is quite the gift. I do not know if most people would choose to keep that ability or return it.” Alistair chuckled softly and the boy tilted his head in a bizarrely familiar way.

“I do not know myself. It is all I have ever known, but sometimes I wonder what it might be like to not have it.”

Morrigan looked at him in surprise. “You do?” The boy nodded, but was obviously embarrassed by the admission. Morrigan glanced at Alistair and saw..._something_ flash briefly in his eyes before it was gone. “Ahem, well, allow me to introduce you both. Kieran, this is Alistair of the Grey Wardens. Alistair, meet my son, Kieran.”

There was no emphasis on “my son” like Alistair would have expected. Alistair stuck out his hand for a handshake, unsure how else one would greet a child housing the soul of an Old God, and Kieran responded in kind. His hand was small and warm like any child’s and there was no immediate paternal connection, but he was pleased by the boy’s firm grip and self-assured shake. At least, Morrigan was raising him well. He was glad for that.

“Time to return to your studies, little man.” Kieran released Alistair’s hand with a sad sigh. 

“May I speak to you again, Ser Alistair, before you depart?” There was such hope and excitement in the boy’s golden eyes – a mixture of his brown and Morrigan’s yellow – that Alistair found it hard to deny him. 

With a smile, he turned to Morrigan. “Only if your Mother approves.” Kieran turned to his mother expectantly. She closed her eyes and wearily rubbed her hand across her forehead.

“Alright. But do not burden Ser Alistair. Remember, he has an important task to attend to.”

Kieran bounced on his feet and grinned. “I won’t be a bother, at all. I promise! I just have so many questions about the Grey Wardens. Mother has told me some things and she said that my father was a Warden. Thank you, Ser Alistair!” He dashed off to his studies before his mother could chastise him.

Morrigan and Alistair stood in silence for several heartbeats, both of them processing what had just taken place, before Alistair broke the quiet. “So,” he whispered, “you told him his father was a Warden? What else does he know – of how he was made?”

She turned on him aggressively, but reined in her waspish remark when she saw the pained expression he wore. “I-I told him his father was a good man. I thought you deserved that much.” Fluttering her hands in uncharacteristic anxiety, she proceeded, “He knows he carries the soul of an Old God, but not _how_ that came to pass.” Morrigan’s eyes willed him to understand. “He is a normal boy – as normal as he can be, given what he possesses, and I did not want to make things more complicated for him.”

Alistair paused to observe her reaction to Kieran – how quick she was to defend him, to protect him; it was a maternal response and some of the weight he’d been carting around for ten years fell off. It was good to know the boy was loved and cared for. That Morrigan was not capable of treating him like a commodity, as Flemeth had treated her. “He’s changed you,” he murmured.

Morrigan scoffed. “Tsk! Don’t be ridiculous!” She crossed her arms defensively and pursed her lips and Alistair laughed.

“You’re right, not completely. That is your famous I-think-I’ll-scold-Alistair-for-being-an-idiot-face.” 

Morrigan bit out a laugh and covered her mouth in surprise, but she recovered quickly. “Your self-awareness does you credit,” she replied archly, imperious eyebrow cocked. Alistair snorted to hear the line repeated so many years later and gave her a tender smile. They would probably never be what you could call “friends,” but at least they were no longer enemies, either.

“Well, I should be going. I’ll leave you to the garden, Morrigan. Good day.” He nodded briskly and turned on his heel, unaware that she reached out briefly to stop him, but she snatched her hand back before she spoke. Once he was out of sight, she sighed heavily and cursed herself. Damn her foolish pride.


	3. Chapter 3

For the next few days, Alistair could be found in the garden every afternoon, spending time with Kieran sharing stories and explaining what he could of the Order without giving away any of their secrets, such as the Joining. Morrigan was always close by – far enough away to let Kieran feel that she was not hovering, but close enough that if she needed to step in to redirect a certain topic or halt one of Alistair’s more ribald stories, she could. But generally, they were both on their best behavior and Alistair asked Kieran questions about his studies and his time in the Orlesian court.

Morrigan was proud to say that her son was well-adjusted, poised, and prudent enough to not overshare regarding his studies. Not that Alistair would have minded, most likely, but his former templar training could still be a point of contention and she didn’t want to rub in his face that his son was an apostate.

Watching them interact was very odd for her. For years, she had been Kieran’s only parent, and even though he had no idea he was speaking to his father, there was a connection between them that was undeniable. The first day had been awkward for Alistair, but the more time he spent with Kieran the easier their conversations became. Morrigan didn’t know why she was surprised or why it made her tingle to see them joke around and share their mutual love of history. Kieran was even attempting to teach Alistair how to play chess, but Morrigan shook her head. The boy really had no idea how hopeless the man was in terms of logistics and tactics. 

Cullen joined them for their game today and was trying to help Alistair, but it was obviously useless. Cullen threw up his hands in defeat and watched the Grey Warden be trounced soundly by the ten-year-old boy. Morrigan laughed at the scene, but at Alistair’s glare she ducked behind her book and tried to chortle more quietly. She listened to Cullen and Kieran discuss strategy and did not notice that Alistair had joined her on the bench until he coughed softly.

He raked a hand through his hair and grimaced. “I wanted to thank you – for letting me spend time with him. Kieran.” He spoke his name wistfully and Morrigan’s gut wrenched for reasons she did not really want to evaluate. 

“You...are welcome. You do not know how much these visits have meant to him.” She stared at the boy, in the middle of a very strategic game with the Commander, and twisted her hands anxiously. “I am afraid of what your leaving will do to him.”

Alistair squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists. “Yes, I have worried about that, too.” He cleared his throat and worked his jaw back and forth. “I never thought I would say this, but I think keeping him away from me was for the best. This way, if...something happens to me, he only loses a funny Grey Warden he met as a kid. He doesn’t lose – “ He choked up and could not continue his sentence. 

Morrigan looked at him with pity. “I-I never meant to hurt you...either of you. I am sorry if I did. But...I think, you are correct – it was for the best.”

Finding his voice again, Alistair muttered, “You’ve done a great job with him. He’s an amazing boy.”

“Not the kind you would expect a woman like me to raise?” Alistair blushed as she raised an eyebrow, but then she sighed. “No child of mine will be raised in a marsh, bereft of contact from the outside world. I swore to never be Flemeth.”

His hand gently rested atop hers on the bench. “You aren’t.” Morrigan jumped at the contact, but Alistair purposefully left his hand on top of her own to prove his sincerity. Finally, the witch nodded and quirked her lips in the barest hint of a smile. He removed his hand and fidgeted, unsure what to do with himself now that he’d said his piece. “I will not be available tomorrow. I will tell Kieran myself, but I wanted to warn you. We leave for Adamant in two days, so I must make my final preparations before we leave.”

Morrigan’s heart stuttered and she glanced at Kieran. “I see. I will do my best to prepare him.” She took a deep breath. “Alistair, for what it is worth…I-I thank you that you agreed to – well, I have Kieran because of you.” She swallowed hard and managed to look directly into his warm honey eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I swear to you – I will protect him.”

Alistair smiled sadly, looking every bit the tired Warden he was. “I know you will, Morrigan.” He stood up and dusted off his breeches absently before steeling himself to speak to Kieran. He pulled up a third chair and spun it backwards before straddling it and sitting down to see who would win the game between Cullen and Kieran. He smiled and watched, but did not make any comments on the game, waiting patiently to break the news to the boy who was his son.

Never in a million years did he think he could have considered the child that he fathered with Morrigan, of all people, as his son. But deep inside he felt it – that connection that bonded them through blood and shared mannerisms. Oh, yes, he had noticed how his own expressions were sometimes mirrored at him, yet he had kept his feelings close. Stealing a glance at Morrigan, he saw her reading her book, but wiping her eyes suspiciously. They both knew this could be the end – either he could die in battle or he could live just long enough to go on his Calling and die in the Deep Roads. If neither of those things happened, then he would be the luckiest royal bastard of all time – but he knew it was too unlikely. 

He'd already given Leliana his farewell letters to be sent, if he did not return, and she had nodded tearfully before he pressed a chaste kiss to her lips and whispered that it was for luck. He was thankful she saved her sobs until he was halfway down the stairs, but the sound carried into the stairwell and he faltered as the stone steps became blurry under his feet. However, he managed to make it down safely and to his own room before he allowed the tears to fall.

Blinking rapidly to stem the tears that threatened to return, Alistair cheered when Kieran beat the Commander. It had been a very tough match – both of the players were cool strategists who considered all possible options three or four moves ahead. Cullen clapped Kieran on the back in hearty congratulations and promised to bring him some shortbread cookies later. Once Cullen was gone, Alistair steeled himself to speak.

“Kieran, I wanted to tell you that I will be leaving in a couple of days. I will not be by tomorrow because I must pack for the journey.” He cleared his throat with difficulty. “I want you to know how much I have enjoyed your company. You are a very bright boy and I know you make your mother very proud.” Kieran smiled softly. “Now, you must make me a promise, man-to-man.” Alistair could see that Morrigan was leaning in to hear. “You must promise to always study hard, but most importantly, you must listen to your mother. She knows what is best for you and she will always keep you safe.”

Kieran nodded slowly and stared at Alistair thoughtfully. “You have known Mother for a long time?” Alistair nodded and gave a faint smile. The boy sneaked a peek at Morrigan and seeing her reading he assumed that she was not listening. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Did you know my father? Mother will not speak of him. She always cries when I ask.” 

Alistair noticed that the book Morrigan was hiding behind began to shake, but he replied carefully. “Yes, I knew him.”

“Did they love each other? Were-were they happy together?” The boy’s fists were clenched and his lower lip quivered. It was sometimes easy to forget that he was still a boy, with a child’s feelings and child-like hopes and dreams, despite the Old God business. 

“Ah, the big question.” Alistair sighed. “I do not know if I should answer that, Kieran. Only your mother can tell you what was in her heart, but I can tell you this. I know for a fact that she made him very happy.”

His golden eyes shone like polished bronze and he sat on the edge of his seat. “How? How did she make him happy?” Alistair smiled warmly and gave him a large grin.

“Because she gave him you, of course! He was always sad that he could not stay and watch you grow, but the life of a Warden is not an easy path. He had duties to fulfill and they were not the kind he could walk away from, no matter how much he wanted to.” Morrigan’s hand began to shake violently and he was sure she was going to drop the blasted thing and give away that she was eavesdropping, but she did not. “And because she taught him a valuable lesson – to never judge a person before you get to know them.”

Kieran was nodding, digesting everything he’d been told while Morrigan peeked at him over the top of her book with wide, uncertain eyes. He smiled at each of them with more confidence than he felt and rose from the chair to take his leave. Kieran stood, too, and hesitated for a second before giving him a brief hug and then dashing off in the direction of his room. Once the boy was gone Alistair felt that same gut-punch from days earlier and struggled to keep down his lunch. Without another word, he strode purposefully and quickly through the garden, leaving a very shaky Morrigan in his wake.

Alistair spent the rest of the day organizing his kit and triple checking his weapons and armor for signs of wear, but there was only so much re-organizing a man could do in a day. Blowing out a frustrated breath he decided to track down Cullen or Hawke and go over battle plans – again. He could not be alone, left to brood right now and there was nothing more mindless than battle strategy and no one better to bore him with it than the Commander. Chuckling to himself, Alistair made his way to the Commander’s tower and spent the rest of the evening listening to Cullen discuss how he had personally calibrated the trebuchets for the tenth time and discuss the marching route. 

By the time he left Cullen’s office he discovered that he had missed dinner, which thankfully meant that he had missed Kieran and Morrigan, but left him incredibly hungry. Grumbling, he headed to his chambers, intent on writing a few more letters before heading to the kitchen and scrounging something from the serving girls. He opened his door and found a heaping platter of food on his desk with a slightly warm ale and a note.

_“I figured you were hiding. You usually do before a major battle, but I didn’t want you to go to bed hungry. I made sure to grab you some fine Orlesian cheese! Please get some sleep tonight. We’re meeting in the war room tomorrow at 8 bells._

_L.”_

“Thank you, Leliana,” he whispered in the quiet room. After he'd eaten his fill and drunk all the ale, Alistair wearily shucked his clothes, leaving them in a pile on the flagstones and crawled naked in the bed. He prayed to the Maker that he could sleep through the song tonight. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SMUT WARNING - SLIGHTLY NON-CON/ROUGH SEX  
Skip the italicized portion to skip the steamy bits!

Alistair had never been an early riser, but now that the song prevented him from sleeping much in the first place, he was usually awake when the sun rose. As it crested the mountains sending small shafts of light through his small window, it found the Warden furiously writing the last of his letters. He put them in his pocket to make sure that he gave them to Leliana after their meeting. But now, it was time for breakfast, so he trudged to the main hall, hopeful that a hearty meal would help revive his sleep deprived body.

He was the first one in the hall, which meant he got the choicest cuts of sausage and the freshest batch of eggs to power his exhausted frame. Once the fluffy biscuits arrived Alistair made sure to snag three and smother them in apple butter. Leliana caught him literally licking the melted butter from his fingers and he popped them from his mouth with a self-satisfied smirk. The rogue laughed at his antics and she tried not to think about the possibility that he would not return. 

They chatted together while she ate, much more demurely than he and she used napkins to wipe her face, which Alistair believed was a complete waste of food. Once she was finished, he pulled the letters from his pocket and handed them to her. “These are the last ones,” he mumbled. Leliana nodded mutely and swallowed hard at the sight of his scrawl on the parchment. She slipped them into one of her many hidden pockets as she stood. He gallantly bowed and offered her his elbow in an effort to lighten the weightiness of the moment and she couldn’t resist his charm. With a carefree laugh, she took his proffered arm and they headed to the war room for the final preparations. 

Hours later, the Inquisitor and her advisors, as well as distinguished guests and those companions going on the trip, exited the room; exhausted, but feeling fully prepared for the siege ahead of them. It would take them over a week to reach Adamant Fortress, so much planning had gone into how the army would arrive there and make it back home with enough provisions. The sappers and the trebuchets from Lady Seryl of Jader had recently arrived and been thoroughly tested and calibrated by Cullen himself. Once the army descended on Adamant there would be no telling how long the siege would go on for, but they were hopeful that the trebuchets would do enough damage, that their enemy would be demoralized and not put up too much of a fight.

Alistair could only pray that they were right. These were not bandits or a paid mercenary force that could be negotiated into giving up for the right amount of coin. These were Grey Wardens and they were going to the desert to knock on their door, which the secretive Order would not take kindly to. He rubbed his temples in aggravation – it was back again. Just at the edge of hearing, but becoming louder as the silence descended around him.

He hadn’t even paid attention to where his feet had taken him, but he found himself in his chambers and with a quick peek out the window to take stock of the sun as it began to dip behind the mountain ridge, Alistair decided to call it an early night. He had already triple checked his gear and packed yesterday. His medium weight leather armor was oiled and ready to put on tomorrow. His Grey Warden armor was polished to gleaming and held in reserve for the siege, because it was heavier than he wanted to wear for nine or ten days of marching.

The only thing he lacked was a meal, but he didn’t feel like mingling tonight. He stuck his head out of his door and flagged down a passing servant to request a dinner tray. A few minutes later one of the kitchen staff delivered his dinner and he slipped the young boy a few coins for his trouble with a grateful smile. The boy’s face lit up and he bowed quickly before running off. Alistair chuckled as he set the tray down on the desk to eat. 

But food just did not hold its usual appeal tonight. He ate to fuel his body and silence his growling stomach, but there was no pleasure in it for him. The bright red apple on his tray caught his attention – they must be in season, he mused. Soon, all that was left of the ruby fruit was the core and he wiped his sticky fingers off on the cloth napkin on the tray and began to undress for the night. He planned to relish the feel of a soft mattress under him even if he didn’t sleep.

Quickly snuffing out his bedside candle, Alistair slipped into the crisp, cool sheets with a contented sigh. The song was there. Enticing him. Drawing him deeper. Calling him like a moth to a flame. He could almost make out the whispers in the song. Chanting, rhythmic whispers similar to a hymn. A part of him, the dark part, knew the words, but his conscious mind wouldn’t let him sing them. It wasn’t time for him to know the words, yet. Instead of waking him, it lulled him into sleep. 

_A flickering candle at the edge of sight. The soft touch of her skin against his as her fingers danced up his chest. Breath hitching uncertainly. Her smirk at the fear dancing in his amber eyes, her tongue darting across her lips like a cat about to pounce. The feeling of being trapped, being prey. She had once joked to that templar on the lake crossing about needing prey – it seems she had found it – in him._

_ He was tempted to flee, anything to escape that bestial look on her face, but he closed his eyes and remembered why he was here. With an angry growl at being toyed with, he flipped the witch onto her back and kissed roughly down her neck. She moaned at his aggressiveness and he couldn’t contain the rush of power that filled him. He was tired of being passive. He was tired of being her pawn and he didn’t mean the woman under him. But he would show them both that he may not be King, but Maker damnit, he was a Theirin._

_ Nails raked down his back impatiently and he opened his eyes to see her yellow orbs staring balefully at him. He leaned back down and nipped the sensitive skin of her breast, not enough to break the skin, just enough to bruise and she gasped in wanton pleasure. Spurred by her response and his own building excitement, he kept kissing and gently nipping his way down her lithe form. Morrigan did not leave much to the imagination with her robes, but he could still appreciate that she was just as well-toned as any warrior, without the bulk. Her muscles were lean and feminine. He’d never really paid attention until right now, but he had to admit that she was a beautiful woman. Beautiful, manipulative, cruel, dangerous – and right now she was his. _

_ Tossing her smallclothes aside and casting his own to the far corner of the room, he sat up and stared down at her from his dominant position. She was breathing heavily, her ample bosom heaving in the candle light, desire pooling in her molten eyes. With a quick glance at him she smirked approvingly and even though he blushed clear to his toes, Alistair felt a rush of pride. At least that was one thing she would never be able to criticize him for._

_ Lining his throbbing head with her channel, he nearly came at how instantly slick he was. She must be drenched! He didn’t know if it was a side effect of her spell or it was purely her reaction to him, but he wasn’t going to question it now. Spreading her legs a little wider to make room for his thighs, he realigned and with a nod to continue from her, he slid home._

_ They moaned in unison. He was literally surrounded by velvet and with every thrust he was afraid that he may come undone too soon. Stars danced behind his eyelids and her breathy moans quickly gave way to guttural, incoherent pleas that bordered on sobs. He was relentless in his possession of her. He never knew he could be capable of such frenzy. He’d always imagined making love with someone being sweet and gentle, something that took hours to build, because you loved them so much you didn’t want it to end. This was not that. This was pure lust. It had to be the ritual. He saw her cast a spell just before she pounced on him._

_ His body wanted to use her. To be rough with her. To mark her. To claim her. But the tiny rational part of his mind that he could still connect with said this was wrong. He should stop. He didn’t want this. Not with her! Not like this! But there was no stopping things now. They had crossed an invisible line and there would be no redemption for him when it was through. His caged mind wailed in grief while his body pistoned into his partner relentlessly. _

_ She seemed to be loving it. Tugging her dark pink nipples into hardened peaks, raking her fingers through her long hair, clawing his back with need – she was a whore. And the crazed part of him LIVED for it. _

_ His end was upon him – he could feel it cresting and building into a crescendo and he didn’t even care if she followed suit, but watching her writhe under him was delicious. Deciding to rub the little pearl he had heard other men in the barracks whisper about, her eyes flew open, the yellow color changed to ruby red. He recoiled from her slightly, but a little more pressure on her bud and she literally screamed, clamping around him like a vice and he roared with her. He closed his eyes and threw his head back in absolute bliss as he continued to ride out the remainder of his orgasm. As he did, he missed the red-black smoke that passed through him, diving into her taut belly. _

_ Morrigan watched him ride out his pleasure and she wanted to scream. Not with pleasure, not with disgust, but with guilt. He would wake up after this but the residual effects of the spell would linger and he would never forgive her. Yes, he was a whiny, petulant child, but he was just as innocent as the child they had created that night and she had ruined him._

Alistair shot up in a cold sweat and his stomach rolled with the possibility of revolting. Hanging his body over the side of the bed in case he lost his dinner, he managed to keep it down. Running a shaky hand down his face he tried to banish the images. For years, he'd buried the full scene from his mind, but now he remembered and he realized that it had been the spell that ruined his desire for other women. He wished he could find it in himself to stomp to Morrigan’s room and rail at her for being a selfish bitch, but he couldn’t. She had only been trying to save their lives. He was sure there was some kind of ulterior motive of Flemeth’s in there, too, but Morrigan ran away from Flemeth in the end, raising Kieran and loving him. How could he be angry about that?

Elissa was the one to give the killing blow. She told him on top of Fort Drakon that if the spell from the night before hadn’t worked that she wanted him to be spared for forcing him to go through with it. Then stealing his sword from his hand before he could protest, she gutted the dragon. There had been the briefest moment as she was bathed in light that he shared a terrified glance with Morrigan and he remembered her biting her lip fretfully. She feared for their friend, too. 

After the explosion, Alistair awoke in the Palace the following day to the good news that Elissa survived and was recovering. True to her word, Morrigan had disappeared. Weeks later while digging out his forgotten travel pack, he stabbed himself and curiously dumped out his bag to find the Alistair doll Elissa gave Morrigan as a gag. The witch enchanted it to cause him pain when she stabbed it, but she didn’t use it much, for which he was grateful. Flipping it over, he discovered the source of his stabbing – a small pin holding a note on the back. 

_Forgive me._

And now, after spending time with she and Kieran, and with so many years past – Alistair found that he could forgive her. She wasn't the same person she was back then and neither was he. It was time to let go of old grudges. He could see things with a cooler head since he was no longer in the moment. Realizing it was nearly dawn, he decided against trying to get more sleep, instead donning his leathers and pulling on his boots. Grabbing his pack and Warden armor, Alistair left his small room and tiptoed out of the castle. He was ready for whatever that asshole darkspawn had up his sleeve.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sobs* I'm sorry

The army marched all the way through the Approach and were a day’s march from Adamant. Inquisition scouts were reporting that most of the mages were already enthralled and only the warriors would be capable of being reasoned with. Alistair swore on Andraste and the Maker while they were in bed, no less, he was so gutted by the news. How could Clarel do this?!

He walked away from the Inquisitor as she was being fully debriefed and found a nice sand dune far away from anyone and then kicked it and stabbed it with his sword while screaming like a mad man until he collapsed in exhaustion. Garrett Hawke sidled up to him after he’d stopped waving his blade around like a maniac and simply nodded.

The two of them stood there in silent agreement with how absolutely shit this piece of news was. This meant that Alistair would have to cut down his fellows – men and women he'd trained with and new recruits that he'd personally mentored. He tried so hard to protect them and be a model Warden – just as Duncan was for him so many years ago. 

Corypheus had taken the Wardens with their solemn oath to fight darkspawn to the death and twisted it. Now, they served a darkspawn and they didn’t even know. He didn’t go through hell ten years ago to raise an army with only one other Warden for backup and a motley crew of misfits to slay a fucking Archdemon to serve this would-be Godspawn. 

Setting his jaw and yanking his sword from the sand dune Alistair snarled. “Let’s go kick some darkspawn ass.” Garrett smiled through his massive beard and clapped him proudly on the back.

“Lead the way.”

They returned to the Inquisitor and she informed them they would camp there for the night rising before dawn to march on Adamant. She hoped to get them to the fortress in time to begin a nighttime siege and throw the Warden’s forces into chaos. It was a sound plan so the men bid her goodnight and set up their own makeshift tents. By the time the canvas was up Alistair could feel the temperature in the desert begin to drop as the first indication that night was coming. Cullen already had watch rotations arranged among his men, so those traveling personally with the Inquisitor could rest. Alistair appreciated the forethought and he could already hear Hawke’s snores in the tent next door, but he doubted he would be able to rest this night.

Feeling inspired he grabbed a couple of pieces of parchment from his pack and added a small drop of water to his ink pot from his canteen and wrote one last letter. It was a hurried, messy missive with lines crossed out and fragments of thoughts, but he didn’t have enough paper that he could re-write it. He scribbled it as the words came to him, like a dam being opened the words poured out of him, mysteriously finding themselves cemented on parchment. Releasing it with a shaky breath when it was done, he sprinkled sand on it to quickly dry the ink and folding it up before it could be carried away by some fluke dust storm. After pocketing the letter, he laid on his bedroll and closed his eyes.

The next evening, they spied Adamant and set their plans for a night siege in motion. Once the sun set, the Inquisition’s first fiery catapults slammed into the ancient walls of the Warden fortress. It was almost midnight before they broke through and began the brutal task of hacking through the Warden resistance. They were able to free some choke points of demons to allow the Inquisition better access to the walls and even convinced a couple groups of Wardens to stand down. But when they found the Warden-Commander, Alistair wanted to be sick. A young elven girl sacrificed on the altar to supply the power to pull the largest demon he'd ever seen into the real world to possess Clarel. Even though he understood that Wardens did not object to blood magic when fighting darkspawn…this – this crossed a line that his former templar training could not overlook. 

He gradually realized that Clarel was speaking. “Our warriors die proudly for a world that will never thank them!”

Alistair flung his arm in Erimond’s direction. “And then _he_ binds your mages to Corypheus!” That finally seemed to capture her attention. 

“Corypheus…but he’s dead!” Clarel seemed shaken and she argued with Erimond for a moment, but Alistair recognized the moment she caved. His heart sank while Hawke pleaded in vain with the Warden-Commander against the use of blood magic.

“I fought the Archdemon in Ferelden! Could you consider listening to me? If this were a fight against future Blights, I would be at your side, but it’s a lie,” Alistair begged. Clarel paused as doubt finally took hold in her mind, but it was too late. Erimond was Corypheus’ lackey and he would not be stopped so easily. That was the moment all hell broke loose and soon the party found themselves fighting demons and dodging aerial attacks by the Blighted dragon. The Warden-Commander chased after Erimond when he ran away from the chaos he created, but they were pinned down for some time by a massive pride demon before they were able to follow Clarel.

By the time they reached her, she had Erimond subdued, but the dragon had other plans. Snapping the mage in its mouth, it flew to perch on the ramparts and shake Clarel like a rag doll before tossing her aside. The dragon’s assumption that Clarel was dead was how she saved their lives. With her last breath, as the dragon stood above her prone form, Clarel struck it with a burst of lightening startling the beast, sending it careening over the broken ledge. Unfortunately, the ledge crumbled under the massive weight displacement and sent them all tumbling a thousand feet down.

Alistair threw up his arm to shield his eyes from witnessing his rapidly approaching death, but instead of landing on his head, he found himself on his feet – at an angle. He looked around in shock and awe, even patting his body and pinching himself, to make sure he wasn’t dreaming for good measure. “Well, this is unexpected,” he stammered a little breathlessly.

“We’re in the Fade – physically inside,” gasped Dorian.

Alistair gulped. “I’ve seen my father in the Fade. I saw a demon pretending to be my sister in the Fade. But I’ve never seen this.”

“The Inquisitor opened a rift and we fell through. Was it like this the last time you came here, Inquisitor,” asked Hawke? The woman shook her head and threw up her hands. 

“I-I don’t know. I still can’t remember what happened the last time I did this.” Trying to quiet the fear that was growing in the pit of his stomach, Alistair agreed with everyone that they should try to make their way back out through the main rift that had been opened in the courtyard. They ran up a flight of steps directly ahead…and then stopped dead.

“What? That can’t be…” Alistair stammered.

“I greet you, Warden. And you, Champion,” intoned Divine Justinia V.

Cassandra gasped. “Most…Holy?”

The Inquisitor turned to the Seeker. “Cassandra, you knew the Divine. Is this really her?”

Cassandra shook her head uncertainly. “I…don’t know. It is said that the souls of the dead pass through the Fade and sometimes linger, but we know the spirits lie. Be wary, Inquisitor.”

“I don’t recall the Divine glowing,” Alistair chimed in. “In my experience, that’s something that spirits do.”

“Surely, you can understand our concerns and explain what you are,” boomed Hawke.

The Divine nodded kindly. “I am here to help you. The Nightmare that rules this realm, he voluntarily works for Corypheus and created the false Calling that terrified the Wardens into making such grave mistakes.”

“The big demon Erimond was trying to pull through? It’s here?” The Inquisitor suddenly seemed paler than usual. “Well, shit.” Alistair had to agree that statement pretty much summed up their entire day.

“You must reclaim all that it took from you. These are your memories from the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor.”

After killing a few wraiths, the Inquisitor used the Anchor to absorb her memories and everyone present was blasted to a personal flashback. Corypheus used enthralled Wardens to suspend Divine Justinia in the air as a sacrifice, while he held the elven orb to focus the magic. The Inquisitor’s interruption allowed for the magic holding the Divine to slip just enough that she sent the orb flying towards the other woman who then picked it up – bestowing the Anchor upon her, instead of Corypheus.

The spirit of the Divine explained how Corypheus meant to use the Anchor to throw up the doors to the Fade and walk in the Black City as a god. The news seemed to sadden both Cassandra and the Inquisitor, but they didn’t have much time to wallow in disappointment. Divine Justinia promised to clear the way ahead for them and then she was gone. Alistair caught the menacing glare that Hawke was sending him, but neither of them had it in them to argue at the moment. With a heavy sigh and a heavier heart, Alistair followed behind the Inquisitor and her companions as they traversed deeper into the Nightmare’s home.

He was tempted to make light of their situation and comment on the cozy décor, but he stopped short when he realized that he was not with his original band from ten years ago. And with the mood everyone seemed to be in right now, he doubted very much they would understand or appreciate his attempts at levity. 

Alistair was reminded of how he ended up in the Fade – the Nightmare shoving the Grey Wardens down a dark path of blood magic, demon summoning, and apparently, sacrificing the Divine for Corypheus. He mentally shook himself and steeled his heart. Yes, after what it had done to the Wardens, he was going to make sure it would learn to fear for itself.

With so many of them they made quick work of the demon gangs they ran into. It was the smaller fears that everyone dreaded. Hawke saw giant spiders, Cassandra saw maggots, but Alistair didn’t want to even utter the words of his deepest fear. He chopped and slashed at the fears in blind panic whenever they popped around a corner or fell from the ceiling and he noticed that he was not the only one so effected when they showed up. After the last round the Inquisitor stumbled some distance away and retched – when she turned around after wiping her mouth and forcefully drying her eyes, she spoke to no one. Resuming her position up front, she led them in the direction that they prayed would see them safely home again.

A little way ahead the Divine was waiting for them with new memories to capture. There were more demons than last time, since the Nightmare did not want the Inquisitor to have full-knowledge of that fateful day in Haven. Once again, however, the demons were sorely outnumbered and easily put down for the Inquisitor to regain what the Nightmare stole. These revealed that the mortal Divine Justinia sacrificed herself willingly in the Fade for her to escape.

Hawke spun to face Alistair. “What we do know is that the mortal Divine perished at the temple, thanks to the Grey Wardens.”

Alistair sneered. “It wasn’t their fault. Corypheus had them enthralled. We can debate the depressing details when we get back to Adamant.”

“Yes, Adamant, where the Inquisition faces an army of demons raised by the Wardens.”

He scoffed. “So, what are you saying? Terrible actions are only justified when they’re _your_ terrible actions? You tore Kirkwall apart and started the mage rebellion!”

Hawke rushed him, snarling. “To protect innocent mages! Not madmen drunk on blood magic! Or did you forget the elven sacrifice who WASN’T wearing Grey Warden armor on the Warden-Commander’s altar?!” Alistair had to admit that was damning. Hawke sighed. “Even without the influence of Corypheus, the Wardens go too far. They need to be checked.”

He opened his mouth to argue further, but was interrupted by the sudden appearance of his worst nightmare falling from the sky. The Nightmare found them and was raining literal fear in their laps, trying to sow the seeds of dissent that were scattered among them. 

“Inquisitor!” He shared a look with Hawke who nodded in reply.

“I’m with you.” 

Alistair was reassured to have the very large mage on his side. They may not always agree, but they still had a mutual respect for each other's skills. Alistair fought along many mages since his days fighting the Blight, but Hawke was one of the best. Morrigan was probably the only one who could top him in pure displays of power. Maybe there was a reason templars hunted apostates; since they did not have rules regarding magic, like Circle mages, they were able to tap into more energy and be more powerful than your garden variety mage. 

Whatever the reason, the Warden was glad to have Hawke shooting fireballs at images of himself – dead, full of stab wounds and tainted arrows, bleeding out in the Deep Roads.

His Calling. 

The party cut the fears down and ran as fast as they could through the muck to get to the next barrier. The Nightmare monologued, finally letting slip if they banished him, they would also banish the demon army in Adamant. This was their new goal. Reaching the final barrier, the spirit Divine worked on bringing it down while they fought off the league of leeching despair and giant pride demons that swooped in to stop them. Alistair smiled to himself, as the barrier exploded and demons littered the ground, when he remembered the first time he encountered a young witch in the wilds who uttered almost those exact same words.

They were nearing the rift! He could see the courtyard in Adamant through the haze of green, but something didn’t feel right. As they piled into the lair of the Nightmare, they were able to see for themselves how incredibly monstrous it was. Sickly pale, slobbery tentacles, fangs the size of the Warden fortress dripping with blood and saliva – a massive spider to make anyone in their right mind arachnophobic and likely shit themselves. 

The spirit of the Divine rushed the Nightmare, spirit pulsing it backwards to buy them some time – sacrificing herself. The team still had to deal with a Fear demon, however. Alistair and Cassandra used their Templar abilities to dampen the magical effects on the party, but their harder hitting abilities like Holy Smite were useless against it. Dorian and Hawke discovered it seemed weak to lightening damage and the air around Alistair was crackling with electrical charge causing goosebumps to break out across his skin. 

Unlike the weaker demons from earlier, this Terror was not so easily taken down and it had the power to call in reinforcements. Alistair’s arms screamed with the effort of holding his shield and deflecting relentless blows by the demons, while his sword arm quickly weakened. He was afraid he was going to drop it as his palms were so sweaty from the extra effort, compounded by the stamina drain from his Templar abilities. He knew he was in bad shape and with a hasty glance behind his shield, Alistair saw that everyone was rapidly wearing out.

Hawke cried out and he saw the talons of one of the leaping demons tear through his shoulder. The staff fell from his hand and blood gushed out of his arm with every heartbeat. Finding new strength deep within him, he ran the demon attacking his shield through with his sword and then rushed to his friend. Hawke shook his head slightly with a weak smile, but now the burly man could barely support his own weight. 

Alistair growled. “Fuck no, Hawke. Not like this, you hear me?” Yanking a health potion from his pack, he pulled the cork with his teeth while lifting Hawke’s head and forced him to swallow it. Dorian rushed over to cast a quick barrier spell around them and immediately followed it up with a quick healing spell. Combined with the potion, color returned to the Champion’s face and he was able to quirk his lips in relief. Alistair opened his canteen and made the mage drink. Satisfied that his friend would live, he retrieved his weapons and pointed to his pack. “Dorian, keep him alive. I have potions and poultices in my pack if you need them.”

Dorian nodded and maintained their barrier, sending defensive spells out when he wasn’t tending to Hawke. The Champion would live; his healing spells and the potion were working on his blood loss, but if they didn’t get him to a decent healer soon, he could lose the use of his arm entirely. The demon sliced through tendons and nerves. Potions and his sad field healing alone would not be enough to repair that.

Knowing that his friend’s life hung the balance, Alistair hacked and slashed at anything that moved with a ferocity that could only be described as desperation. He could see their escape – he could practically taste freedom, but he needed this demon to die! The Inquisitor used stealth and hard-hitting flanking attacks to tear down opponents, so without their mage support they worked out a system. Alistair and Cassandra pummeled it from the front, pushing it back against the far wall to try and keep it from flitting across the field, while the Inquisitor exposed any weak points and maximized their attack with calculated critical strikes. It turned out to be very effective and soon the demon lay dead at their feet with more stab wounds than a pin cushion. 

Alistair rushed over to Hawke and lifted him up. Hawke leaned heavily on him for support as they hobbled towards the exit. Alistair waved Dorian ahead of them and the Tevinter brooked no argument. As they limped closer to the Inquisitor, the Nightmare returned and stood in their path, blocking their escape.

“How do we get by,” yelled Alistair. 

Hawke stared at the creature. “Go, I’ll cover you.” 

Alistair shook his head. “No, look at you. You can barely stand. Besides…you were right. The Wardens caused this mess. A Warden must – “

“Must help them rebuild, Alistair. That’s your job! Corypheus is mine,” growled the Champion. 

Closing her eyes to stop her tears, the Inquisitor turned around to face the men. Taking Hawke from Alistair’s grip, she nodded solemnly at the Warden. Hawke tried to fight her, but he was too weak and down an arm – there was no way he could stop her and she had a surprisingly firm hold on the large mage. It did not stop him from screaming obscenities though in his distress. Alistair pulled a folded letter from his pocket and slipped it to the Inquisitor. Glancing at the name penned on the front, the tears she’d been holding back spilled over as she nodded mutely. 

With a sad smile, Alistair unsheathed his sword. “Right. Good luck. I’ll keep it off you.” She took a final moment to study the Warden who stood atop Fort Drakon with the Hero of Ferelden and ended the Blight only a few years ago. Then, stealthing both herself and Hawke, she forced the man beside her to move quickly so they could use the time Alistair gave them.

“For the Wardens!” Alistair rushed the demon, sword held high, and slashed its legs, tentacles, into its tender underbelly, but it was too big. His massive swings were no more than papercuts to the giant horror. Peeking between its tree-trunk legs he saw the stealthed duo tumble through the rift and with a mad dash, he took off, hoping to fall through the rift before the Inquisitor closed it.

Light exploded behind his eyelids and then cold settled in – first, his limbs, then seeping into his muscles, shutting off responses to his nerves, causing his fingers to spasm and release his sword. It clattered loudly as it rolled down the incline, but Alistair no longer heard it. His last conscious thought before darkness descended was a name and a pair of yellow eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

When Leliana received the letter of condolence from Cullen after the battle, she holed herself up for a day and let her closest spies handle the network. But it took her a couple more days to find the courage to break the news to Morrigan. The rogue approached the woman on the bench silently. 

“May I join you?” Morrigan turned her disarming yellow eyes to Leliana and nodded. They sat together for a few moments, not speaking, each lost in their own thoughts. "Morrigan –" She put her hand up to stop the redhead from speaking and shook her head. 

“No, I cannot bear to hear the words spoken aloud.” Leliana continued to sit still and wait while the mage laughed mirthlessly. “Fool. Idiot! He had to be noble in the end, didn’t he? Why? Why did you have to be such a reckless, valiant hero?” 

Morrigan jumped up and paced furiously, no longer speaking to the rogue. “You ass! Now what do I tell him? How do I move on from this without causing more pain?” She stopped pacing and whispered so quietly Leliana almost missed it, “I never did tell you why I was sorry.”

The woman startled at the touch of her companion’s hand. Leliana’s eyes brimmed with tears; surely she'd cried enough to fill an ocean, but apparently the ocean needed more salt water. “I will miss him, too.” The witch covered her face in her hands and cried. If someone told her a decade ago she would cry over the loss of that buffoon she'd have laughed them out of Thedas. Yet, here she was – sinking to her knees in the garden’s soft grass, sobbing at the loss of her greatest irritation and greatest regret.

She'd had a decade to think about the cost of that damn spell, to lament that she was forced to use it to save the Warden’s lives. It was why she sent Elissa the information she dug up – information both women hoped would bring an end to the Calling. It might not be the answer to stopping a Warden from dying when killing an Archdemon, but it could end the senseless death of all the Wardens. A way to prevent those who never lived through a Blight from traveling the Deep Roads in search of an honorable death. She felt she owed it to Alistair after the ritual. Her gift to the Order as a form of penance. 

The tears subsided, leaving a hollowness in the pit of her stomach. Now she had to break the news to Kieran and she gasped at the stabbing pain in her heart. Morrigan wasn’t sure how he would handle the news – not well, of that she was certain. It was her biggest fear in allowing Alistair and Kieran to spend time together. Knowing it could lead to this, yet when she reminisced on the happy moments they'd shared she found it hard to be angry. Her selfishness robbed Alistair of ever having a family, which had always been his one desire in life, and it stole her son’s chance to know his father. The least she could do was let them spend a few days together, even if it ended in senseless tragedy.

Rising regally, Morrigan brushed off her breeches and excused herself to head to their bedroom. Leliana noticed her hesitation at the door before she gathered her composure and slipped inside. Even through the thick wooden barrier, the rogue heard the protestations and denials from the boy. Closing her eyes she felt each of his “No, no, no, no” as a dagger to her heart. Finally, the yelling stopped and Leliana left them to deal with their grief.

Catching sight of a large rosebush on her way through the garden forced her to clutch a nearby column for support. A snippet of a memory flashed through her mind. A boyish grin and a rose, a teasing jibe about his new weapon of choice, and a young bard watching from across the camp fire giggling at the awkward display. "Oh, Alistair. Maker watch over you, my friend."

* * *

It was a very subdued group that returned to Skyhold two weeks later. The Inquisition's army suffered heavy losses at Adamant. Not to mention, the Inquisitor fell into a rift where the Champion of Kirkwall was seriously wounded and the hero Warden Alistair perished. When the Inquisitor entered the gates, there were no raucous cheers that usually greeted her. Instead, she saw men and women throughout the fortress, holding their hats and bowing their heads in respect. Many of them tittered anxiously at the sight of Hawke riding on a horse, his arm and shoulder bound with large bandages. Dorian assisted the man in sliding off his mount and then they all headed to their quarters. 

The Inquisitor followed suit toward her tower. Not long after she entered, Josephine rushed in to see if she wanted a bath or dinner in her room. The Inquisitor smiled and took her up on both offers. After a bath and food, she decided it was time she delivered the special package entrusted to her. Sending a runner with a message to Morrigan, she asked her to a meeting after Kieran was in bed.

As she did not feel like socializing, she chose not go down to dine with everyone. Instead, she preferred the quiet of her room, listening to the crackle of the fire, and ignoring everything important she had to do now that she was back. 

An authoritative knock sounded on her door and she yelled for her guest to enter. The precise clipped ring of her boots on the stone announced her before she topped the stairs. 

“Morrigan,” the woman inclined her head to her guest.

“Inquisitor. I am glad…you have returned.” The Inquisitor wisely did not comment on the brief flash of sadness in the witch’s eyes. 

“Thank you. I am sorry for..." She swallowed hard. "He was a good man.” Morrigan nodded minutely in reply. Crossing the room, she produced a letter with a familiar script bearing the mage's name. Morrigan gasped and hesitantly reached for the parchment. “I shall let you use my chambers to read it in peace. Take all the time you need.” With a gentle pat on her shoulder, the Inquisitor slipped around the dark-haired woman still rooted to the spot in shock.

Morrigan couldn't say how long she stood there in disbelief with the letter in her hand. Her knees knocking together finally forced her to collapse on the couch near the stairs and she carefully unfurled the parchment. Her hand snatched the item secreted inside before it fell to the floor and placed it in her lap to read the note.

_Morrigan,_

_If you are reading this, then I am gone. I hope you and Kieran can forgive me for dying. I am sure you will call this <strike>stupid</strike> foolish of me to – what I mean is... Damn, I thought writing it out would be easier. I have realized something on this journey that I wanted to share with you. _

_I spent years trying to <strike>bury</strike>_ _forget that night, but it was always in the back of my mind. I’m sure you are not surprised to hear that I could never…well…with anyone after that. Once, I hated you for that. Because I blamed you. I assumed it was because I never had a chance to choose who I <strike>would lose</strike> gave myself to. But that wasn’t it, was it? It was Flemeth’s spell. Which meant that it was an old, dark spell. And dark magic always twists the original <strike>intent</strike> purpose._

_So, my Templar brain had something to chew on and the solution finally came to me. It was an old love spell, mutated into a spell of <strike>desire</strike> lust. Which makes the partners act crazy – almost out of their minds with want, need, desire. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? Now, woven into that spell was another one (probably blood magic, knowing your mother) that bound the participants together. I’m assuming it was the part which guaranteed the taint passed from me to Kieran. I can just hear you grudgingly giving me credit for figuring this much out, right?_

_Ah, but I saved the best for last. Though the spell was transformed into a lust spell to guarantee completion and make it successful (thank you, I am rather proud of myself) it was still a love spell at one point and magic can't erase that intent completely – can it? _

_Maybe if we had been different people in different circumstances we could have fallen into this naturally, but we weren’t that lucky. I want you to know I forgive you. You might have had ulterior motives initially for wanting an Old God baby, but those motives disappeared when you had Kieran. And you did perform the ritual to save our (mostly Elissa’s) lives. I know you two are still close – stay that way for me. I would hate for you <strike>to be alone</strike> <strike>to be lonely </strike>Maker’s breath; you know what I’m trying to say. Keep your friends._

_<strike>I hate to sound like I’m lovestruck, but</strike> Love spell or no love spell, I do care for you and our son. When he’s old enough, tell him who I really was. I know you’ll know when he’s ready. And for Andraste’s sake – never let him join the Grey Wardens!_

_I’m leaving you a gift since you once left one for me. It was my mother’s and you know how special it is to me. I know you don’t believe and that’s fine. Just think of me (fondly woman!) when you look at it. _

_ <strike>All my love</strike> <strike>Passionately</strike>_

_ Affectionately,_

_ Alistair_

The letter fluttered from numb fingers and she clutched the worn necklace in her hand. Morrigan swallowed roughly to halt the scream lodged in her throat. He figured it out – she never expected him to, honestly. Alistair’s strength of will as a Templar was part of what made the spell so difficult for him to live with. The spell was powerful, but so was his training to resist magic, even subconsciously. Instead of succumbing to the effects a decade ago and falling in love with the witch he was now bound to, he continued to fight against it. Unknowingly, at that – and it was why he was never able to move on with another woman. 

Grabbing the sheet of paper off the floor, Morrigan re-read it. One line, hidden in a larger paragraph, stopped her in her tracks as tears slid down her face. _I want you to know I forgive you. _

He had been too good for her. She didn’t deserve a man who could go from hating her, to wrestling with a love spell she cast on him without his knowledge or consent, to forgiving her right before he died in a blaze of glorious heroics. 

Morrigan struggled with the spell, too, but by the time Alistair arrived in Skyhold to interrupt her garden meditations, she had to admit a certain fondness for the man had grown within her. He was the father of her child, after all. Watching him bond with her – their – son, the affection for him deepened. Even though she realized Flemeth’s magic was probably coloring her feelings slightly, it didn’t make them any less real.

Now, the magic between them was broken. It removed the compulsion to care for each other, but it left behind any true feelings for the other person. Alistair was equal parts daring and foolhardy, not to mention insufferable and annoying - she sighed. Morrigan knew she was merely lying to herself to pretend that was how she felt about him.

As she stared at the battered Chantry amulet he'd cherished, guilt and loss wracked her heart with equal measure. Never again would the world hear his easy laugh or be charmed by his boyish grin. He was smarter than Morrigan gave him credit for, it was true and she was overcome with remorse that she couldn't congratulate him in person for figuring out what she found impossible to explain.

Just like Alistair, his letter was full of kindness. She never expected him to forgive her, for she believed her own actions were unforgivable. If there _was_ a Maker, she was sure to be eternally damned for her manipulation of such a pure soul.

Refolding the parchment carefully and slipping the necklace in her breeches pocket Morrigan mentally shook herself and stepped into her Witch of the Wilds persona. There was still the matter of Corypheus to deal with. She would have the rest of her life to mourn and allow guilt to eat at her like a cancer for his loss, for she would never be able to look at Kieran and not see his father – Alistair. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me and reading this drabble. If you liked it, please review! If you have constructive criticism, please review!


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